American Ambassador

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Just, Ward. The American Ambassador. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1987.

I think this novel is a dark example of fatherhood failed and an odd choice for celebrating Father’s Day. Oh well. Quite literally this is a story of father against son. Bill North is a Foreign Service Officer with strong loyalty to his job and marriage. His son, Bill Jr., sees his father as all things corrupt and sets himself apart from first his family, then his country in the ultimate betrayal of his father. After abandoning his family Bill Jr. joins a German terrorist group. Ward Just’s story takes the reader from Boston & Washington D.C. to France, Germany, and Africa as the hunt goes from father to son and back again. I was fascinated with this falling out of family and couldn’t put it down until the devastating end. I almost want to say what happens, but you really should read it for yourself.

Favorite quotes: “His favorite word, injustice, applied equally to underdone hamburgers, a Red Sox loss in extra innings, a quarrel with the houseboy, a missed airplane connection, or a death” (p 55).
“The son is always the shadow of the thatther, is that not true?” (p 153).

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust”  in the chapter “Fathers and Sons” (p 85) and “Ward Just: Too Good To Miss” (p 135).

Get a Room

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There is something illicit about hotel rooms. Anonymous and secretive. I don’t know what it is. When I was a kid I used to give myself chills thinking how far away from home I was, how disconnected I was from everything “safe.” I used to look at the people around me and think it a small thrill that no one I knew knew them. Yet, here I was, with them. I felt like I was getting away with something; that my life was in danger in a happy way.
Sometimes I wonder if that’s what it’s like to have an affair. Kisa and I were at our second hotel. He wanted to swim and I was chapters deep in my book. I agreed to read by the pool to keep him company. That really wasn’t necessary because frolicking in the deep end was a rather loud, giggly couple. It was obvious they were in the mood for more than a swim, but rude enough to stay where they were. Discretion be damned. Later, kisa told me he thought the man was married to someone else. It was the way the man explained things to his chirping companion as if they had just met, yet he wore a wedding band. Was this man really renting a room for romance? Did he really have a patiently ignorant someone at home?
It didn’t matter to me. All I wanted them to do was use the room they paid for.

Big Mouth Shut

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ESPN
Game four. We had to be somewhere for game four. I was thinking “errr…what’s wrong with the hotel? It has a big flat screen tv….” But, I know this as well as any sports fan. You can’t watch a high stakes game (of any kind) in your hotel room. Alone. You have to go somewhere loud. Somewhere where you can place bets and you might get heckled. Somewhere where the air conditioning is up too high and people yell to be heard over the pounding music. Somewhere where every plate of food that goes by smells delicious and the beer flows freely. That place was ESPN Zone in New York New York. It was loud. The A/C was up too high. The food was great. The beer flowed Fat Tire. And yes, my husband got heckled. How could he not? He was the only Celtics fan in our corner of the restaurant. He was the only one wearing green, yelling at the refs, complaining about bad calls. And, yes, the Celtics were losing.
That doesn’t mean there weren’t other Celtics fans in the restaurant. In fact there was a good sized crowd of them bellied up at the bar. Problem was, Kisa was nowhere near the bar. His cheers for the Celtics were like a lone explorer at the North Pole – helllllooooooo? Surrounded by Laker fans they soon zeroed in on the guy in green. Words were exchanged. Insults akin to “yo mama” only sports related were tossed around. My basketball player can beat up your basketball player. You don’t wanna come to Boston. I think someone paid off the ref. It’s all over now, baby blue.
When it was all over and the Celtics really did lose my Kisa got up to approach the opposing table. A couple next to me jerked their thumbs and rolled their eyes at his retreating back. “Is he really going over there?” a woman asked me, concern in her voice but merriment in her eyes. Everyone loves a good fight. “Guess so.” I muttered. All I wanted was a warm bed and to never hear the name Kobe again. I could have slept standing up.
In the end, kisa and the Laker fans shook hands. But, as he turned to leave kisa had one more parting shot: We’ll see what happens in Boston.

Kite Runner

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Hosseini, Khaled. The Kite Runner. New York: Riverhead, 2003.

It is hard to believe The Kite Runner is Khaled Hosseini’s first novel. I am reminded of a favored race horse, one that is described as “strong out of the gate.” I couldn’t put it down (read it from start to finish on the flight back from California). The Kite Runner is a powerful story of friendship and family in a time of political and cultural upheaval. Amir tells the story of his childhood in Kabul, Afghanistan. As a privileged son, Amir grows up in the shadow of his Baba, his father’s affection, constantly looking for ways to win his father’s love and admiration. Occasionally Amir finds the sunshine and basks in the approval, but those moments are fleeting, overshadowed by Baba’s obvious and puzzling devotion to Hassan, a servant’s son. Amir spends his childhood balancing a friendship with Hassan while enduring blinding bouts of jealousy. Amir’s personal turmoil forces him to make regrettable choices and soon his life parallels his country’s dramatic revolution. For both boy and country, life as they knew it is over in a dramatic upheaval.

BookLust Twist: In More Book Lust twice:  First in the chapter called, “Central Asia: Crossroads of Empires, Cauldron of War” (p 40), and again in “Maiden Voyages” (p 159), for being Hosseini’s first book. 

Time Traveler’s Wife

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Niffenegger, Audrey. The Time Traveler’s Wife. Orlando: Harcourt: 2003.

This was a reread for me. I first read it on a cruise and it seemed only fitting to reread it on my vacation in California. The first time I read The Time Traveler’s Wife I ached to map out a time line for the story. I wanted to chart Henry’s comings and goings. Reading it a second time was no different.
The Time Traveler’s Wife is the intricate love story of Henry DeTamble and Clare Abshire. Henry is a Chicago librarian who visits the opera, beats people up, and just happens to have a genetic disorder that not only causes him to involuntarily time travel, but gives him the ability to duplicate and visit himself at various stages of his life.
Clare Abshire is an artist and the object of Henry’s affection. Henry’s ability to time travel brings the couple together when young Clare is as young as six years old. As a result, Clare must endure waiting for Henry to time travel back to her. Her wait is made easier by a list of dates of when Henry will return.
While the main story focusses on Henry and Clare’s unusual romance life and world events go on around them. Sex, drugs and rock and roll give way to the aids epidemic and advances in science. Soon doctors are looking for a cure for Henry’s genetic disorder. Because Henry cannot control his time travel he seems to disappear during times of stress or some other great emotion. For example, haunted by the memory of his mother’s tragic death, Henry visits the scene of the accident again and again. Throughout it all, Clare stays by his side as best as she can given the unusual circumstances.

BookLust Twist: In More Book Lust twice. First, in the chapter called “Maiden Voyages” (p 158), and again in the chapter called “Time Travel” (p 221). How appropriate!

Bananas Again

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There was a ‘scene’ in Stomp involving a banana. The next night there was a scene in Zumanity involving several bananas. Several provactive bananas. Comparing Stomp to Zumanity is like comparing apples to oranges, but they both had the bananas.

While nothing made me slide down in my seat in shame I wondered what I would do if someone called on me to perform. When it comes to innuendo, I want to be that girl in the front row who can take on an awkward situation. Take a big bite out of something embarrassing and come up laughing.

I want to be that girl who takes the biggest bite…And swallows, too.

July Is…

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July is a ton of things. Musically, it is Sean Rowe & Mickey Hart. It’s also the theater. It’s Kisa’s birthday (yay yay yay). It’s a few anniversaries as well (past and present).
For the BookLust Challenge it’s:

  • Bilgewater by Jane Garam (to celebrate Jane’s birth month)
  • Blackwater by Kerstin Ekman (to celebrate the best time to visit Sweden)
  • Citizen of the Galaxy by Robert Heinlein (to celebrate Robert’s birth month)
  • Finding Caruso by Kim Barnes (to celebrate Idaho becomming a state)
  • Friend of My Youth: Stories by Alice Munro (to celebrate Alice’s birth month)

I’m not planning any huge get-aways so I should be able to finish this list…

June Was…

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June was a night of Sean Rowe music with some great women. June was one hell of a trip. June was the kick in the pants I needed. June was the “get off the pot” month. For BookLust Challenge it was:

  • Ninety-Two in the Shade by Thomas McGuane (fishing month)
  • An Academic Question by Barbara Pym (Ms. Pym’s birthday)
  • Act of the Damned by Antonio Lobo Antunes (family month)
  • The Amateur Marriage by Anne Tyler (best month to get married)
  • The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffennegger (Ms. Niffennegger’s birth month)
  • The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini (Father’s Day)
  • The American Ambassador by Ward Just (Anti-Father’s Day)

One review for LibraryThing:

  • Tomato Girl by Jayne Pupek (one word: tragic, tragic, tragic!)

Both Ninety-two in the Shade and Tomato Girl  were described as “gritty” and yes, were both gritty, but in two very different ways. I have to say The Kite Runner was my favorite June book.

Amateur Marriage

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Tyler, Anne. The Amateur Marriage: a Novel. New York: Ballantine, 2004.

It’s weird to say I finished this book poolside in Las Vegas, Nevada. Who would have predicted that? Certainly not me.

This is a book I will definitely read again someday. When thinking about this review I wanted to box this story into a corner and call it a sad book, but I couldn’t. It’s such an accurate portrait of how a marriage (and ultimately, a life) can end up that I can’t just call it “sad.” How can I when it’s beautiful, funny, tragic, infuriating, intelligent, frightening and honest all at the same time?
Michael and Pauline are two teenagers whose lives collide at the start of World War II. Their romance is the result of a marriage between a fear of the future and the desire to be someone else at that very instant. Michael wants a girlfriend, any girlfriend. Sensing Pauline’s fascination with the war effort he spontaneously enlists. Pauline wants a soldier for a boyfriend. Any soldier. The culture and uncertainly of the times have thrown these two people together in such a way that neither of them can back out, despite the growing realization they were never meant to be together.
One things leads to another and soon thirty years have gone by. Pauline and Michael divorce and life goes on. And on. While the marriage didn’t survive more than halfway through the novel, Michael and Pauline go on. Their relationship from beginning to end and beyond is captured beautifully.

Favorite quotes: “You know how men are about wearing ties on a Saturday” (p 31).
“I’ve reached the stage where I got so hungry that I’ve gone beyond  hunger” (p 71) …and Kisa didn’t think that was possible!
“Sometimes, Pauline got a feeling like a terrible itch, like a kind of all-over vibration, and she thought that any moment she might jump clear out of her skin” (p 71).

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter “Marriage Blues” (p 161). 

Outdoor Natalie

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Here’s one thing I adored about Vegas. Music was everywhere. No matter where you were. In the elevator, in a store, on the sidewalk, on the escalator, in the elevator. Didn’t matter. Music was there and everywhere. One of the best moments was hearing Natalie while basking in the midday sun. We were coming back from exploring the newest casinos (& stopping in my favorite indulgence, Sephora) when all of a sudden kisa stopped me and said to listen. What? Water fountains? The Japanese tourists behind us discussing shutter speed? The traffic weaving its way up the strip? For a moment I was lost. Then I heard the voice.
My former boss had told me there was no greater show than seeing Celine. I never saw anything indicating Celine was even around. Bette, Cher & Elton all had their moments, but it was Natalie who stole my show.

Orgasmic Mesa

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Heaven on Earth

This could also be called Ode To Bobby Flay or Where are the Damn Statues?! We went to Caesar’s Palace four times. Not for the gambling. Not for the shopping. For the statues. When my mother visited Vegas she had all these great stories of moving statues. I wanted to see them for myself. I had always told myself that if I ever made it to sin city I was going to find the statues in Caesar’s Palace.
The first time we went it was early morning. Nothing was really opened yet. Spotless and quiet, even the slot machines seemed muted. We didn’t find the statues.
The second time we passed through Caesar’s it was mid-afternoon. We followed signs to the moving statues and came up empty. So empty I felt lost. Where were the statues?
The third time we deliberately went to Caesar’s we asked someone for directions and were led to a cheesy, theatrical fountain show with mechanical puppets and lots of fire. Not what I was picturing. Not at all. Rather than wasting a trip I convinced Kisa to have lunch at Mesa, one of Bobby Flay’s restaurants.
Never before have I eaten at a place where the food is so good my eyes literally rolled back in my head. I ordered the southwest breakfast burrito with chorizo, scrambled egg, goat cheese, cilantro and three kinds of sauces.
On our fourth trip to Caesars I found the statues my mother had been talking about. Finally. I recognized them from the pictures she took. I was surprised to discover they are not LIVING statues but rather, moving mechanical statues. Just like the ones I found the day before. Admitting defeat I finally moved on from Caesars but I will never forget Mesa.

Breakfast

Flicker Sex

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Sin

I was expecting Vegas to be this scandalous, crazy, never-tell-your-mama-what-you’ve-done kind of city. I don’t know what I was picturing (people having sex in fountains? doing lines in the bathroom? stripping on dance floor?). I haven’t a clue. Here’s what I saw: people, people, people. All shapes and sizes, ages and backgrounds. People with cameras slung around their necks. People with places to go, people to meet. Men dressed for money, girls dressed for magazines. I couldn’t tell a prostitute from a tourist (unless she was handcuffed behind a cruiser). And, yes, some breasts were out (intentionally or not). Everyone walked around with a drink of some sort – some looking more ridiculous than others.
Here’s the only time I felt I was in sin city: the guys on every street corner trying to hand guys (and girls) “information” on hooker hook-ups. “Get a girl in 20 minutes…” Small clusters of dirty men (and an occasional woman) stood on every street corner flicking girly cards slightly smaller than a playing card. Waiting for the light to change all you hear is snap-snap-snap, flick-flick-flick. No one really says anything to you, just tries to get you to take a card, shoves it at you. The street corners are littered with smiling topless women…and the promise of the Vegas I imagined. The one that stays in Vegas.

Plastic Bags Make Great Music

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Stomp

“This had better be good. All I can say is this had better be good.” That was me, grumbling to kisa about our free show after spending nearly three hours trying to be talked into buying a time share. We had already gotten tickets for one Vegas show and I was thinking that was enough. Silly me.
Anytime anyone takes a stick and bangs on something I sit up and listen. I should have known this would be good. I’m fascinated by rhythm, no matter how it’s made. Add a dozen or more people all banging on things and I’m in percussion heaven. Such was Stomp. Of course I wasn’t allowed to take pictures but I did manage to take a picture of the theater before the performance (above isn’t it).
The thing that amazed me the most about the show was the idea that anything can create music. Anything can be played. Newspapers, boxes, brooms, garbage cans, even plastic bags. My eyes and ears couldn’t keep up with all the music being made. My favorite part was a water segment. Guys banging on cups as they poured water out of them in front of a huge fish tank. The changes in sound as the water left the cups were fascinating.
So, yeah. I may have been grumbling in the beginning but in the end kisa rocked my world. See below for the “set” pic of Stomp.

Stomp Set

Free Show for the Insane

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First Look at VegasI think my husband is part evil. No, scratch that. I think he’s a glutton for punishment. We had been up since 4am, been on a plane for over five hours, hadn’t even checked into our room yet and suddenly he’s agreeing to some two hour “presentation” on time shares. The woman that roped us in was a fast moving, smooth talking woman from New York with bleached blond hair, bright circus makeup and a huge toothy smile. She had lipstick on her teeth and a gleam in her eye as she first circled then approached us. Her first words were, “How would you like to see a free show while you are here?” How could we resist? I barely had time to pee before we were whisked off to answer a bunch a questions, confirm those answers and get shuttled somewhere else. I had been in Vegas for not even two hours.
Sitting down with a rep is a lot like playing cat and mouse. They’ll ask you silly questions and you give silly answers. You circle around the cold, hard facts (like price & interest rate) all the while thinking you could just be the cat in this game. The longer you play hard to get, the harder they try. Reps consult managers, managers come out to sweet talk you. Suddenly, you are in the driver’s seat and they’re saying things like, “we normally don’t make this kind of offer…this has never been done before…my boss is going to kill me, but…” On and on it goes until finally someone gives in, gives up. By the time the interest rate was finally muttered we knew we had won. Over 15% was a ridiculous rate no matter how many free trips to Hawaii they would throw in. With NoThankYou firmly planted in our mouths and a resolution to walk away in our hearts we got our free tickets and got the hell out of there. Welcome to Vegas.

 

Final Destination

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We escaped San Diego. Well, let me be truthful: we escaped the Mission. This is the last leg of the journey. Homeward bound tomorrow. I didn’t shop for presents for people. Instead I took pictures for them. I’d see something that would remind me of someone (like Sarah) and just had to take a pic. I took so many that we had to get me a new memory card. I think I’m up to 1000 shots so far…

Anyway, here’s the upcoming blog list:

  • Seen one Michael’s You’ve Seen ‘Em All
  • Here Comes the Bride
  • Maybe You Should Drive
  • May We Be Excused?
  • Dead Camera
  • Chipotle Not Neglected
  • Aquarium on the Hill
  • Way Nicer Everything